Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

‘‘Damn it, Eppley, that is not what I said,’’ Dan angrily replied. ‘‘All I am saying is that your happy face is out of place. And I am not the only one to think so. Some of the punchers have remarked as much.’’

‘‘Some of the punchers are biddies who love to gossip.’’ Epp sighed and gazed toward the house. ‘‘Listen, Dan. I could let it get to me. I could go to pieces and not give a hoot about anything or turn to drink or you name it. But what good would that do anyone?’’

Dan Morgan fidgeted.

‘‘Would it help my ma to recover? Would it help my pa to remember how much the Circle V means to him? No, it would not. All it would do is make matters worse. Is that what you want?’’

Dan fidgeted again.

‘‘Of course you don’t. No one does. I am trying in my small way to shed some of the gloom. To show that, yes, what my brother did was terrible, but we must run this ranch as it should be run and not crawl into shells like my ma and pa have done.’’

‘‘So all your smiles are for our benefit?’’

‘‘Why else? For my parents most of all. I want them to get over their loss and be as they were.’’

‘‘That is asking a lot,’’ Dan said. ‘‘They love that brother of yours. What he did has crushed them. I will never savvy why he didn’t come back with you and own up to his mistake. That boy always struck me as levelheaded.’’

Epp shrugged. ‘‘Who can say why people do what they do? Who can say what made Boone snap?’’

‘‘Talk is that a girl was to blame. That he was sweet on her, and for some reason she was shot, and that set him off.’’

‘‘I doubt we will ever put all the pieces together,’’ Epp remarked. ‘‘The important thing is for us to get on with our lives.’’

‘‘I am sorry I brought it up.’’

‘‘Don’t be. You have the hands to think of. Spread the word. Tell them I do not want to see long faces. Make them understand we can’t mope around forever.’’

The old man promised that he would and headed for the bunkhouse. Epp stared after him, then chuckled and bent his own steps toward the house. He climbed to the porch and gazed to the west. The sun was about to disappear over the rim of the world, and the sky was splashed with brilliant streaks of orange, red and yellow. ‘‘Do you like the sunset?’’

Lillian did not look up from her rocking. Her jaw muscles twitched, but she did not answer.

Epp went over and squatted next to the rocking chair. ‘‘You can’t keep this up, Ma.’’

‘‘Go away.’’

Laughing, Epp clapped her on the shoulder. ‘‘That is the spirit. Treat me like cow droppings. I am not the one who gunned those men down. I am not the one who rode off and left you and Pa.’’

Lillian’s head snapped up and her eyes blazed with a fire they had not had in many weeks. ‘‘You should have looked after him. You’re the oldest. He was your responsibility.’’

‘‘He’s sixteen, Ma,’’ Epp said. ‘‘Practically a full-grown man. What was I to do? Hold his hand the entire time we were in Ranson?’’

Lillian’s fingers gripped the arms of the rocking chair until her knuckles were white. ‘‘What was he doing there anyhow? He never went there before. You are the one who likes that den of iniquity.’’

‘‘Don’t blame me. He wanted to see it for himself. I tried to talk him out of it. I told him you would not approve. But he said he would do as he pleased.’’

Lillian’s eyes narrowed. ‘‘That does not sound like Boone. That does not sound like him at all.’’

Epp rose and placed his hands on his hips. ‘‘What are you suggesting, Ma? Say it plain.’’

Lillian looked down.

‘‘You always did like him more than me. You always have treated him special.’’

‘‘That is not true.’’

‘‘The hell it isn’t. When we were little, I got ten spankings for every one of his.’’

‘‘You misbehaved ten times as much,’’ Lillian said, defending her punishments. ‘‘You sassed me. You threw fits of temper.’’ She smiled wistfully. ‘‘Boone never did any of that. He always did his chores and listened to what I told him.’’

‘‘The perfect angel,’’ Epp said bitterly. ‘‘But that is all right. I don’t hold it against you. Every parent has a favorite, I am told. It is my luck that you and Pa both picked Boone.’’

‘‘We never—’’ Lillian began, and fell silent.

Epp patted her wrist. ‘‘Sit out here awhile yet. I will have Maria call you when supper is ready.’’ He went inside and closed the door behind him, then leaned against it and grinned. ‘‘It is so easy,’’ he said to the air. Squaring his shoulders, he walked down the hall to the kitchen. ‘‘How soon until we eat? I’m starving.’’

Maria was slicing potatoes she had already skinned. ‘‘It will be the usual time, Senor Scott.’’

‘‘Bring my ma in when you set the table so she can wash up.’’ Epp turned to go but looked back. ‘‘Any sign of my pa?’’

‘‘No, senor,’’ Maria said dutifully. ‘‘Not since breakfast. He went out on the range to count the cows.’’

Epp blinked. ‘‘He did what?’’

‘‘That is what he told me he was doing, senor.’’

‘‘But we did a tally at roundup. Why would he want to count the cattle again?’’

‘‘He did not say, senor, and I did not ask.’’ Maria dropped potato slices into a pot. ‘‘The counting of cows is not something that interests me.’’

‘‘Remember to get my ma.’’ Epp hurried down the hall to the front door. His hand was on the latch when he changed his mind and retraced his steps to the parlor. The window was open to admit air, as it often was on a summer’s eve, and he slipped out without anyone noticing. Instead of going to the front of the house he went to the rear and on past the house and around his mother’s lilac bushes. They screened him from the porch long enough for him to reach a gully that presently brought him to within a pebble’s toss of the stable.

Epp hunkered and waited. He was not worried about the hands spotting him. Those not out working the range were in the bunkhouse waiting for the triangle to peal so they could hustle to supper. Maria’s brother did the cooking for the punchers; his specialty was Mexican food but they didn’t mind. As one hand mentioned once, ‘‘Food is food and his is damn good.’’

The sky gradually darkened to gray. Epp consulted his pocket watch and slid it back into his vest pocket. The drum of hooves made him stiffen. He climbed to where he could see over the top of the gully and spied a lone rider trotting toward the corral. The man’s face was hid by shadow, but his clothes were familiar, as was his bay with its white stockings.

Epp did not show himself until the man had dismounted and was leading the bay. Careful not to be seen, he came up on the corral from the side. ‘‘How was your day, Pa?’’

‘‘You,’’ Ned Scott said. ‘‘What do you want?’’

‘‘I asked you how your day went.’’

Ned started to strip the saddle, saying, ‘‘It went like all the rest have gone since your brother left.’’

Epp leaned against the corral and folded his arms. ‘‘This is tiresome, Pa. Will Ma and you ever get over it?’’

‘‘When you have a son of your own ask me that.’’ Ned laid hold of the saddle and lifted. ‘‘That boy meant the world to me.’’

‘‘And I don’t?’’

Ned shot his older son a look of reproach. ‘‘I love both of you. I have never favored one over the other. But you have always been more willful than Boone.’’

‘‘First Ma, now you,’’ Epp said.

‘‘It is true and you know it. I tried and tried to talk you out of going to Ranson but you wouldn’t listen. You like cards and whiskey and the other thing too much.’’